


Roll Over Beethoven

by grantaire_the_cynic



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Neighbors, musician R
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 20:36:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2665514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grantaire_the_cynic/pseuds/grantaire_the_cynic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neighbors AU- Grantaire is a musician who practices all kinds of instruments at all hours of the day. Enjolras lives next door and is quickly getting fed up with the constant noise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roll Over Beethoven

**Author's Note:**

> enjolratious:
> 
> Neighbours AU where Enjolras has a tony apartment near campus that has the thinnest walls so he is constantly hearing everything that goes on around him. The car alarm that seems to always go off at three in the morning, the old neighbours above him that test their vocal cords and Enjolras’s patience but most importantly the guy to the right of him that plays the drums. All. The. Time. In the morning when Enjolras is getting ready, when he comes home randomly to grab things in between classes, when he goes home before the Les Amis meetings, and when he gets home from them. It’s a constant drumming, at one point Enjolras questioned whether it was a cd until he heard someone in the apartment sneeze and the drumming cease only to start back up moments later. This carried on for a few weeks until the drumming stopped. And the guitar started. Again a few weeks. A stop. Then the bass, the piano, and Jesus the worst is the trumpet. Enjolras is about at his wits end with this. So one day he stomps over to the next door and doesn’t even hesitate with throwing the door open and marching right into the living room. He recognizes a variety of instruments strewn across the living room and a vaguely attractive dark haired man sitting in the middle of it. He can’t remember taking a breath before beginning to yell at the man, who looked to be Enjolras’s age. After he said his piece he left, shutting the door firmly behind him. Immediately after that the music stopped. Enjolras didn’t hear a single sound from the apartment beside him. And it bothered him. Now he couldn’t concentrate. The car alarm was louder, the old couple above him seemed to have reached a whole new level with their screaming. And it was too quiet for him. So a week later, armed with a batch of cookies, albeit poorly cooked, he stood in front of his neighbours apartment door. The door swing open before he had a chance to knock. His neighbour was standing there with a green beanie covering most of his wild curls and a leather jacket on. He looked at Enjolras questioningly.  
> ‘I think we got off on the wrong foot.’
> 
> After that day Grantaire, Enjolras would soon find out is his name, never played his instruments in his apartment again. He moved all of them one apartment over and now plays them at god forsaken hours of the day, and night, in his shared apartment with Enjolras.

Enjolras' apartment wasn't large. His parents constantly tried to convince him to move some place better. 

"Honey, we'll help you with rent. There are plenty of apartments close to campus that are actually big enough for someone to live in." his mom said over the phone every other week or so. Every time he just shrugged and told her he liked his building.

That wasn't too far from the truth- he did like the location. There were plenty of restaurants near by, it was close to campus, and close to the Musain. But it was small- one bedroom and a kitchen/living room. The bathroom barely had room for the tub, sink, and toilet. The walls are paper thin, so he could hear everything. EVERYTHING. The couple upstairs who always had a shouting match about trivial things, the car alarm outside that goes off every five minutes after the sun goes down, the couple next door that has loud sex all the time, the side entrance that always bangs shut, and the dog up stairs that barks during the day. But the most irritating was the drummer. He lived next door to the other side and played all the time. Or at least all the time that Enjolras was home. Every day, and late into the night. Sometimes as late as three or four in the morning. Enjolras wondered if any of the other neighbors complained, but then he realized that the apartment was on the end of the hall and the apartment above it was empty. So really only Enjolras got the full brunt. 

It was endless. Sometimes just a dull thump. Different beats in the bass drum unaccompanied by anything else. Other times it was complex rhythms. Always changing, always varying in volume. It woke him up in the morning, which was not always a bad thing. 

It was not common knowledge among his friends, but Enjolras was not a morning person. Especially if he was up late the night before. (Which he could never blame on the neighbor, he was up late working anyway.) It was strange. It seemed that the drumming was almost constant. When he woke up, had his breaks during the day, during the evening. It almost sounded like some weird drum CD. But then the person sneezed and the drumming stuttered and stopped until he stopped sneezing. 

Enjolras yawned, going through his notes before a meeting. The words were starting to run together. He rubbed his eyes. 

"You okay?" Courfeyrac asked, sliding into the seat next to him.

"Yeah, I'm just, tired. I was up late working on a paper, and my neighbor is a crazy drummer."

"Crazy drummer?" Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows.

"I don't know them- I don't even know if they're male or female. I just know that there is drumming coming from his apartment at all hours of the day." he rubbed his temples.

"So go knock on the door and ask them to stop." Combeferre said, sitting down.

"I don't want to start drama. I'm sure it'll stop eventually."

It didn't. The drumming continued for about three more weeks, getting more and more complex. Then it stopped. Enjolras almost couldn't believe it when he woke up and it was quiet. He blinked, not sure if he was awake. Enjolras sighed happily. Maybe he'd be able to work with out a constant drumming behind his ear buds. 

It was a short lived relief. He came home from class that day and heard a weird plucky sound coming from the apartment next door. At first he couldn't tell what it was. Then, after a considerable amount of swearing and an angry phone call (or two, it was hard to tell), he figured out it was a guitar. Well at least it wasn't as loud as the drums. Well, at first. The first couple weeks Enjolras' neighbor was practicing the acoustic guitar. He could still hear every single note, right or not, but it wasn't that loud. In fact, if he had headphones on he couldn't hear it at all. 

But as soon as his neighbor had figured out the acoustic guitar- which took three weeks (which Enjolras was begrudgingly impressed by)- the electric guitar started. That was loud, especially the amplifier feedback. Enjolras quickly grew frustrated and often spent time on campus getting work done (or dozing off in the library). 

"You look terrible, Enjolras." Joly said before the meeting started. 

"I know. I haven't been sleeping well. I have loads of work to do and my neighbor is apparently trying to learn the electric guitar. And he's terrible at it. For the first week all I heard was amp feedback."

"So you've met this mysterious musical neighbor?" Jehan said, grinning.

"No, but I heard another neighbor talking about him." Enjolras yawned, shoving his notes aside. 

"Have you talked to him? Now that you know about him." Jehan asked.

"No, I don't want to start anything. Eventually he'll stop, I'm sure."

And he did. About a month later, the guitar stopped. Enjolras breathed a sigh of relief, it was quiet finally. Until the bass started. In his neighbor's defense, the bass was much better. It was quieter and his neighbor seemed to be better at the bass right off the bat. 

The bass was short lived and followed by the worst trumpet Enjolras had ever heard in his life. It was bad. Worse than when he joined band in elementary school. He had played bassoon in school, but he would never forget the sounds of the trumpet section during the first few weeks. (Or the clarinet section, for that matter.) But his neighbor- much worse. Headphones couldn't block out the sound. Enjolras was quickly growing tired of it. 

the trumpet played almost constantly. Every waking moment that Enjolras was home there was this awful trumpet sound. After a week, he couldn't take it. He hadn't slept more than a couple hours (and, to be fair, it wasn't all due to his neighbor, he usually quite around two or three am) in over a week and he was about to crack. He got up and stormed next door, throwing the door in and marching right into his neighbor's living room. (Part of him wondered about the door being unlocked, but he could ponder that later.)

His neighbor, a guy about his age and not bad looking, was sitting on the floor, trumpet in hand, looking up in surprise. There were all kinds of instruments around him. The drum set that started all of this was in the corner, his guitars nearby against the wall, a saxophone still partially in the case, a flute, a trombone, a banjo, a clarinet, a mandolin, and a violin were scattered around the tiny apartment. Enjolras had just a split second to be impressed before he remembered why he was there.

"DO YOU HAVE ANY CONSIDERATION FOR YOUR NEIGHBORS? DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY NIGHTS I'VE GOTTEN NO SLEEP BECAUSE OF YOUR INCESSANT NOISE? IF YOU WANT TO PLAY SOMETHING FINE BUT WE HAVE A MUSIC BUILDING FOR THAT! TAKE YOUR SHIT OVER THERE AND LET THEM DEAL WITH YOUR MEDIOCRE PLAYING! SOME PEOPLE IN THIS BUILDING HAVE THINGS TO DO AND DON'T WANT TO LISTEN TO YOU PLAYING AROUND ON STUFF YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING WITH! SO FOR THE SAKE OF ALL OF OUR SANITY FIND SOMEWHERE ELSE, OR JUST GIVE IT UP!" 

Enjolras stormed out, slamming the door and collapsed onto his bed. Over the next few days there wasn't a sound from next door. Ever. No instruments, no practicing, not even music from a radio. 

At first, Enjolras was happy. He could focus on his work, he was sleeping more. But then he noticed just how quite it was. He suddenly could hear the car alarm again (how had he forgotten about it?). The couple upstairs's shouting match had reached new levels. They were screaming now and Enjolras had to call the police three times because he feared one of them would kill the other. The couple who lived on the other side of his apartment were constantly having sex, it seemed. 

He was getting increasingly frustrated. And when none of the neighbors were being loud and the car alarm wasn't going off, it was eerily quiet. He couldn't stand it. 

"Go talk to him." Combeferre said after a meeting one day. "Let him know you're sorry, come up with a compromise. You're good at that."

"I know, but I yelled at him and I told him to give up and he hasn't played since. I don't ever see him come or go from his apartment. What if I really messed things up?"

"Go talk to him." Combeferre said, squeezing his shoulder.

Enjolras finished boxing up the cookies he baked. He had tried making them from scratch and thought he did a decent job. Yeah they looked, questionable, but they couldn't be that bad. They better not be. He'd burned himself four times. 

Enjolras took the box and walked next door. His hand was raised to knock when the door swung open. His neighbor was standing there, looking surprised, wearing a musical t-shirt ("Once, never heard of it." Enjolras thought.) and had a green beanie pulled over his hair.

"Hi, uhm, are you busy?" Enjolras asked.

"Well, I was going to go sketching in the park, but I don't have to. Why? Come to yell at me for something else?"

Enjolras blushed. "I, uhm, I came to apologize. And I brought you cookies. To make up for me being a complete dick. I shouldn't have yelled. You were just practicing. If I can do my work at home, no reason you shouldn't."

"Oh, well, uhm, do you want to come in?" Grantaire asked, pulling his beanie off and running a hand through his hair?

"Oh these are awful. I'll have to teach you to make real cookies. I think you forgot eggs. And brown sugar."

Enjolras blushed, pushing the box away. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. It's the thought that counts. I'm Grantaire, by the way, R to my friends."

"Enjolras. Glad to meet you."

Enjolras spent the rest of the day in his neighbor's apartment, and the evening. He ended up spending most of his free time there. Grantaire taught him how to bake and Enjolras finally stopped apologizing for being a dick. 

By the end of the school year, as Grantaire's leas came up, they decided to just move in together, since Enjolras rarely slept in his own bed anymore.  
Grantaire stepped back, admiring his work. He had just built a shelf, from scratch, that went over their couch. It held all of his instruments except the drum set, which was in the corner where Enjolras used to have a bunch of boxes of kitchen stuff.  
"I never cook, so I never unpacked them." he said when Grantaire questioned him about it.

"Well, I'm going to make it my job today to make your kitchen functional. And make room for my drums. I can build something to hold everything else. But not that. And we're getting a new place when your lease is up. I want to get a keyboard."

Enjolras laughed and rolled his eyes.

"Relax, I already know how to play it."

Grantaire was pulled from his thoughts by Enjolras slipping his arms around his waist. 

"That looks nice, R. Really nice. I love the music designs you panted in." he said, turning and kissing Grantaire. "So what are you going to play for me today?"

"I'm going to show off my skills on the bassoon. I think. We should play duets, since you are a former bassoonist."

"We should. I'll have to dig it out of my closet."

"Already did, it's up there next to my saxophone. And before you ask, yes, I'll be done practicing by two am. I know you have to work tomorrow."

Enjolras nodded, "I've never asked, and I hope you don't mind, but why are you learning so many so quickly?"

"Well, I graduated with an art and music degree and the job market sucks donkey balls." Enjolras snorted, "So I figured I'd expand my resume. Music directors want people who can double. The more instruments I can play, the more jobs I qualify for. I've almost gotten them all covered. Soon as I don't suck at violin and viola anymore. I wish they were as easy as cello and bass."

Enjolras looked at him, impressed. "I'm so sorry I yelled at you. That is really impressive."

"Enj, you don't have to keep apologizing. I'm over it. And I love you, you know. It's fine."

Enjolras grinned. "I thought you said you weren't going to say it until the moment was perfect- something about candles and romantic music?"

"This was the right moment. I changed my mind."

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a song by Chuck Berry, covered magnificently by ELO


End file.
